


Drinking Do’s and Don’ts

by rebel_diamond



Series: Love on Ice [9]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-07-28 12:24:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16241564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebel_diamond/pseuds/rebel_diamond
Summary: This would have been written for June’s @a-monthly-rumbelling non-smut prompt “drinking, karaoke, dancing, kissing, date” if I had gotten it in on time.Part of the Love on Ice series, wherein disgraced ex-pairs figure skater Gold is hired to coach ice princess Belle and her partner Gaston to the Olympics. If Gold and Belle don’t kill each other first.





	1. Chapter 1

**_September - Autumn Classic International - Skate Canada - ISU Challenger Series -_ ** **_Montreal, Canada_ **

"Belle, he's not coming."

Belle's neck snapped back from where it craned over Gaston's shoulder. The swinging wooden doors of the western themed karaoke and dive bar had flapped opened again. She thought for certain this time it would be him. She peered up and down the table of skaters and coaches beside her, feigning interest in their conversations.

She peeked across the table where Gaston extended a sympathetic smile that told her how obvious, and pathetic, she was being. 

She folded her arms and leaned over the table. "But, we got first place!” she insisted. 

When Gaston replied by giving her another pitying look, she deflated in her seat. 

“I thought he'd want to celebrate." She shrugged, picked a limp fry off her plate and dragged it through the remnants of ketchup, only to throw it back into her basket. 

She didn't bother hiding her disappointment from Gaston. Since they’d started sports therapy with Archie, they’d vowed complete honesty with one another. The idea was to improve their skating by increasing their trust in one another. It felt uncomfortable at first, verbalizing thoughts she normally kept to herself. But after some practice, she began to find the whole exercise liberating. Belle didn’t know whether to credit the therapy with placing first in their inaugural skate in the senior division, but having a real friend on the road helped. Even if it was to commiserate over a crush.  

She sighed as her mind slid back to her skate with Gold and the connection she’d felt. It was different than how she skated with Gaston. If it hadn’t been for their skating careers intertwining, she and Gaston most likely would have never become friends at all. Gaston was gregarious where Belle was focused, he easygoing while Belle was deliberate. While she wouldn’t trade the professional success or newfound friendship with Gaston, with Gold she felt more of a natural companionship that would translate off the ice as well. Their strides on the ice were equal. She was used to skating twice her natural speed to compensate for Gaston’s height. She fit easily into Gold’s side as the took off around the ice. Her professional partner towered over her in every way.   

She had returned to the ice that day because she hated leaving practice on a negative note. She found, after some soul searching with Archie, that she took that mood into the rest of her day and it caused other aspects of her training to suffer. She expected Gold to be gone by the time she got back to the rink. She wanted to skate for a few minutes, practice a few jumps, and go to physical therapy with a better mindset.  

At first, she’d thought she’d wandered into another skater’s practice time. Not wanting to interrupt, she was going to turn back, until he skated by her, his scruff and long hair unmistakable. She’d stood at the edge of the ice, unnoticed, rooted to the spot in shock. She didn’t think he skated anymore. In fact, she’d noticed that he never stepped foot onto the ice, even in regular shoes. He avoided the slick surface as if he feared the ice might crack and he’d fall through. A characteristic she used to bait and taunt him when she was really mad. 

Once the surprise wore off, her analytical skater brain kicked in and she watched him critically. His skating wasn’t anything like his over the top performances she’d seen online. 

It had taken some digging, but she’d found some video of his old Olympic performances. The dark hair, severe looking woman he was skating with, she learned, was his wife, Milah. It might have been the jealousy talking, but Belle didn’t think they were well-matched. Milah looked so disapproving next to his mercurial act. In one performance, the year they’d medaled, he wore a flouncy shirt and brocade vest. The video quality was poor, obviously uploaded from someone’s old VHS recording. But she could tell how the gold thread of his costume caught the light and made him shimmer all over. The idea of him wearing something so whimsical today was outlandish. His skating was was no less arresting. His choreography was melodramatic and theatric with lots of arm movement. Milah, her Miss Priss face upturned the whole performance, kept up but did nothing to elevate his performance. 

_ I’m a better skater than her _ , Belle thought. 

Another video she’d found was of their next Olympic performance four years later. The announcers made clear that they were the favorites going in. But Belle knew something was different straight off. The confident smirk Gold started all his other performances with wasn’t there. Milah had a strained smile on her face. His grip on her hand as they stood next to each other, waiting for the music to start, was too tight. Things began to fall apart almost instantly. He threw her too hard, almost punishingly, into the lifts. She had no option but to fall. When they locked arms, it was as if he was loathe to hold onto her and was fighting the urge to either drop her hand or shove her away. The announcers were very sympathetic to Milah. She was trying her best to salvage the performance, but he was making it impossible for her. Belle winced as she watched, every impulse telling her to look away from the trainwreck. She had never seen a worse pairs performance in her life. By the end Milah had completely given up and they limped to the finish. 

But watching him circle the ice alone, he was a completely different person now. His skating had mellowed. It was smoother, sexier, less frantic. When he ran a hand through his long hair she almost melted on the spot. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone and she admired the extra expanse of chest it exposed as he glided backward. She knew from the commentators on his old performances that he was one of the few male pairs skaters known for their footwork. Belle noticed he hadn’t lost his touch as he glided around, spun on one skate, and switched directions. He spread his legs, his arms, and leaned back and closed his eyes. 

He looked like he was almost having  _ fun _ . Her desire to join him was so strong, she tossed her skate guards off and sped after him. With his eyes shut and the hair brushing his neck fluttering in the breeze, he looked at peace. The storm constantly raging in his eyes was gone, or at least hidden from view. When she’d grabbed his hand he’d looked surprised and a little angry, but she just squeezed his hand harder. She wasn’t going to let him push her away like he had Milah.  

By the time he dipped her and they slid to a stop in center ice she was so turned on she would have let him take her right there if he wanted. The cold ice against her back, his warmth on top of her, and his stubble scraping lightly her cheek when he buried his mouth against her neck. She’d been panting for breath and it wasn’t from the exertion of the skate. 

For a split second, she thought he might kiss her. But then she saw the panic in his eyes. The alarm that he’d let her in and they’d gotten close and now what was he supposed to do? She was sure he was about to say something rude or mean or make sure she left the ice in a huff. So she cut him off by complimenting his skating and giving him a friendly out. 

But in the days following there hadn’t been time for their skate together to evolve into something more meaningful. The Autumn Classic was only a couple weeks away and they’d both transitioned into strict work mode. Practices left her too exhausted to overthink her feelings for him and what their chemistry on the ice could mean. Then they were packing and getting into a caravan of cars to take them to the airport.  

The whole trip to Montreal had been a whirlwind. They’d been accompanied on their flight over by other skaters that trained at the same facilities and their coaches. Gold had a gift for disappearing in a crowd. When they landed it was all about getting to the hotel, finding the local gym, fighting for ice time, and getting as much sleep as possible.  She began to think he was avoiding her since he only appeared if she was on the ice and there was a sideboard between them. He’d reverted to his usual one-word directions shouted across the ice. 

On the day of the competition, Belle had been so nervous she’d barely looked at Gold. Gaston was always relaxed before a competition, chatting with journalists and fellow skaters. But Belle turned inward before an important skate. Sensing Gold hovering stock still next to her while Gaston made cracks to random crowd members a couple yards away, she thought her coach might actually be just as nervous as she was. When their names were announced, Belle took a shaky breath. She felt a hand on her lower back, steadying her for a moment before gently nudging her to the ice. It wasn’t until she and Gaston were halfway to center ice that it occurred to her that it wasn’t Gaston’s hand she’d felt. 

After their short program, Gold had been there when they got off the ice. Instead of feeling relieved they were halfway through the competition, Belle was more anxious than ever. The judges’ scores weren’t in yet. Everyone knew a flawless performance didn’t necessarily translate to winning scores from the judges. As they sat in the Kiss and Cry, Gaston accepting the flowers and stuffed animals on their behalf, Belle noticed Gold’s leg next to hers bouncing up and down. 

She released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding when their short program scores landed them in second place. While normally a cause for celebration, with only seven pairs in the competition, most of the scores were within a point or two of each other. One mistake in the free skate could easily take them out of medal range.

The remainder of the Autumn Classic was a blur. Belle was just as tense going into the free skate. Afterward, when the announcement, in both French and English, came over the speakers that they were in first, she was thrilled but apprehensive. There was still one more pair to skate. They could easily be booted to second if the couple from Germany skated well. It was the longest four minutes and thirty seconds of her life. She found herself cursing them to get off the ice faster as the pair leisurely circled the ice plucking roses and teddy bears off the surface. 

Belle didn’t know how Gold reacted when their competitors’ overall score was announced to be .5 less than their own because, unable to stand the anticipation, she had her eyes squeezed shut. She was pretty sure she screamed though. Then Gaston tackled her in celebration and they were whisked away and surrounded by journalists and photographers and bloggers for the next several hours. Gold, purposefully she suspected, had disappeared into the backstage area and she hadn’t seen him since. 

Back at the hotel, she’d hazarded a knock on his room door, to see if he was going out with the group of skaters and coaches tonight before they flew out the next morning, but he hadn’t answered.  

Now, it looked like he wasn’t going to show. She folded her arms, suddenly self-conscious about the extra effort she’d taken in getting ready. She’d packed a pair of heels from her secret growing collection. In the mirror of her hotel room, she’d appreciated how they highlighted her toned legs. She’d curled her hair so it was full of body and tumbled in waves down her shoulders. She was even wearing a bra with lift,  the kind designed to look good with or without your shirt on. Belle spent so much time in skating outfits and training gear, there wasn’t much opportunity to, as Ruby put it, ‘put her hair down and her boobs up.’ 

The western style doors swung open again and she didn’t bother looking up, keeping her gaze fixated on the table as the crowd continued to buzz around her. But someone hesitated in the doorway and she let her optimism get the better of her. 

It was him. 

Her first thought was how handsome he was. There were numerous pictures of him online from when he was younger, but he was so much more attractive now. His leather jacket hung on him carelessly. The shorter pieces of his hair framed his dark brown eyes. The chisel of his nose and the deep set of his eyes gave him a naturally discerning appearance. He look absolutely nothing like a skater. In fact, he looked like the guy who roughed up male skaters and took their girlfriends out back to mess around. Taking him in, standing there, made a warmth pool in her stomach. He was lean, but she knew how deceptively strong he was. She knew what it felt like to have his long fingers spread over her, gripping her hips, right before he tossed her. Now she could imagine how he’d grasp her waist in other ways, in other situations, for other reasons. Belle squirmed in her seat. 

She watched as he scanned the bar, his gaze alighting on her. Her lower abdomen clenched. His eyes softened and a small smile lifted one side of his mouth. 

She felt like a butterfly pinned to a board under his stare. Her breath sputtered to a stop. 

“Gold!” someone hollered from the other end of the table, making Belle jump. Everyone was a few drinks in and had raised their voices accordingly. He was forced to look away from her, and she hoped she didn’t mistake the reluctance in his eyes. He acknowledged the crowd of coaches with a nod of his head. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he approached the string of tables their party had pushed together. Belle noticed the tension in his shoulders. She suspected that if he had noticed the size of the group before they spotted him, he would have slipped right back out the door.

Belle perked up as he came closer, peanut shells crunching under his boots. When they’d all sat down, she’s purposefully picked a seat at the end of the table and placed her coat on the one next to it. Slyly, she hoped, she slide her jacket off the chair next to her and into her lap. He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and pivoted to make his way towards her. Belle’s heart pounded in her chest and she clutched her coat tighter. Finally, they’d get to spend time together away from the ice.   

“Congratulations, darling!” Ella yelled at him, pulling out the chair next to her and slapping the seat. The coaches had naturally gravitated to the opposite end of the table from the skaters. Ella picked up one of the pitchers dotting the tables and sloppily poured beer into an an empty glass until it sloshed over the rim. She shoved the drink in front of the seat next to her expectantly.

His steps stuttered and he looked over everyone’s heads at Belle. A look that hung in the air for a moment. He looked so regretful and Belle thought she understood why. If he turned down a seat and a drink with the coaches it would raise suspicion. While it wouldn’t surprise everyone if he sat with his team, it would look strange if he turned down sitting with the other ‘grown ups.’ Belle felt small and foolish and naive. Not that anyone suspected anything was going on between them. Not that anything  _ was  _ going on between them. But whatever was developing didn’t need an audience. 

Belle gave him a tiny shrug and an understanding smile, as if it didn’t matter to her what he did, but it died on her face. She was making a habit out of showing her feelings and her transparency wasn’t serving her in this moment. 

Belle hugged her coat to her chest and tried to avoid Gaston’s compassionate eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Due to her training, Belle didn’t often get the opportunity to drink. Her birthday party had been the exception. She remembered vividly how gutsy the champagne had made her. She’d felt no shame in stalking her coach in the secluded nook of the hallway or how effortlessly the flirtatious words had left her mouth. Despite her uncharacteristic boldness, she’d woke up the next morning hangover and regret free. Her feelings behind her suggestive actions had only been the truth, after all. Her work with Archie made verbalizing her thoughts and feelings while sober easier now. Yet these particular feelings about Gold still needed some lubrication to process.  

She reached across the table and wrestled a beer pitcher to her side of the table and filled a plastic tumbler to the brim. She didn’t know if you were supposed to sip beer or not but the mouthful she took that made her cheeks puff out was flat and strong and gross. She thought about going to the bar and ordering something fruity but the bitter taste matched her sour mood, so she drank.

The libations weren’t for her own feelings, she decided. She was clear about those. She’d even worked them through with Archie because Gaston was sick of hearing the ticker tape of “he loves me, he loves me not” constantly running through her head. Archie warned her against using the L-word, but this wasn’t a girlhood crush either. It was Gold’s feelings, or lack thereof, that drove her to drink. She wasn’t imagining the spark between them. Yet he snuffed it out at every opportunity. She didn’t think it was out of disinterest. More like fear. She got it, a skater and coach embarking on a relationship was dangerous, least of all because of the strain it could put on their working relationship. It was also a little taboo because of their age difference, but she wasn’t a minor by any means.  

Usually abstinent, the beer quickly went to her head so she studied him openly down the row of tables, not caring if anyone, including him, caught her. He was sitting among the coaches and he didn’t look as miserable as she felt. He wasn’t the life of the party, but he chatted with the group and even laughed a few times.  _ He never laughs for me _ . Belle took another deep gulp. She noticed he didn’t touch the light colored beer in front of him, just fingered the glass. He was from Scotland, he probably hated light beer.   

Could it be he was uncertain of  _ her _ feelings? Is that why he wasn’t making a move, or at least meeting her partway? She thought she’d done everything imaginable, include throw herself at him at her birthday party. Had he thought she was drunk and didn’t know what she was saying? What more could she do, show up to his hotel room wearing nothing but a bow? It was an idea and, yes, she wanted him  _ that way _ but not  _ only _ that way. She also wanted to be able to talk to him like a human being. Belle suddenly missed practice. If she was on the ice, she’d be too focused to obsess like this.

It wasn’t long before he made an excuse to go to the bar. Her suspicions were confirmed, she knew wasn’t a beer guy. He walked directly past her without once glancing her way, leaned across the bar and spoke low to the bartender, who nodded and turned away for a moment. He returned with a short glass filled with something brown. Instead of returning to the table, he settled onto a stool and gazed up at the television over the bar that was playing the week’s soccer highlights, not in a hurry to return to his raucous table.

It was the ignoring her that did it. If he’d shot her even one of those half smiles he’d given her when he first entered the bar she could have lasted the rest of the night on that memory alone. But no, he was back to pretending she didn’t exist outside a rink. 

Well, the alcohol inside her decided, if he wasn’t going to come to her, she’d go to him. She was allowed to talk to her own coach in public, there was no rule against that. It wouldn’t look weird to anyone. In fact, it would be weird if she  _ didn’t _ say anything to him.

She marched up to the bar, but hesitated behind him. She didn’t know what his reaction would be. Go away little girl? Would he say something cold and unfeeling like he normally did? Pretend they’d never skated together? Make an excuse to leave? The bottle the bartender had poured from looked expensive so he wouldn’t be in a hurry to leave his drink before he’d finished it. Now was her moment. She boosted herself onto the stool next to him. 

He acted surprised to see her there, like he’d forgotten she was even in the bar. She could go back to the hotel right now and spend the night feeling sorry for herself for that reaction alone, but she charged ahead anyway. Her thoughts were taking an extra few seconds to reach her mouth and he struggled to fill the silence. 

“Nice job on the ice today,” he told her.   

Belle was unimpressed. She knew she was a good skater. Everyone told her. Been telling her that her entire life. The gold medal sitting on top of her suitcase proved that. She didn’t want to talk about stupid skating.

“I know,” she replied brusquely. 

He blinked at her blunt response.   

Is this what a date with him would feel like? Is this as close as she’d ever get, this stilted conversation? Was she wrong and their connection was limited only to the ice? 

“I didn’t know if you were coming out or not,” she tried again. “I stopped by your room but nobody answered.” 

“I was at the gym.” 

So that explained the strength she’d felt in his arms when he’d tossed her on the ice. That also partly explained how he spent his time when he wasn’t standing at the edge of the rink glaring at her. 

He swiveled in his stool and looked over his shoulder at the tables of skaters and coaches. People had dispersed around the room and weren’t paying a bit of attention to them. Ella was sloppy drunk across across the table, laughing uproariously at something Ariel and Eric’s couch had said. Gaston was over in the corner playing darts with a group of other skaters. 

Was he worried about someone getting the wrong, or better yet right, idea about them? Why should they suspect anything? Who, besides Gaston, would think she was sitting next to him because she wanted to date her coach?

“You don’t you play with your friends?” he asked, but not unkindly. He wasn’t trying to get rid of her so much as giving her an out, which was laughable. He’d watched her professionally for months. He should know by now just how tenacious she could be when she set her mind to something.  

“I’m where I want to be,” she assured him. When they’d first met he’d accused her of being a stuck up, prissy ice princess. She used that tone to her advantage now. She wanted what she wanted and she wanted it now. They were alone. Outside a rink.  _ Finally _ . Just because this wasn’t a traditional date, didn’t mean it couldn’t turn into one. They weren’t a traditional couple anyway.

She caught a hint of a smile, as if he was amused with her answer, but he hid it behind his glass as he took another drink. She want to get another one out of him. One he couldn’t hide. She used the edge of bar to spin herself towards him and squared her shoulders. “We’re getting a room later,” she announced. 

The amber liquid stuck in his throat. It bubbled up out of his mouth and back into the glass. He coughed so hard a stranger leaned across an empty stool and clapped him on the back until Gold held up a hand to signal he was fine. 

“A what?” he sputtered. His panicked eyes sped around the room, clocking every skater and coach within hearing distance.  

“A karaoke room,” she clarified. “They have them upstairs to rent. We’re all going in on one.” 

The alarm drained from him, but he didn’t look any more thrilled. In his competition days, he’d been the consummate performer. But the idea of Gold singing “Billie Jean” in front of crowd of skaters made her giggle.

“Planning on singing a duet with LeGume?” his voice was hoarse from coughing and it came out like a growl. There was that familiar sneer, the bitterness that tinged the end of all his sentences. Before, she wasn’t able to see past his tone. She’d been too annoyed at him for barking at her in practice. Maybe it was her work with Archie that made her see through him now. If he thought she’d be scared off, he was mistaken. She was done playing around with him. If she didn’t get a straight answer from him about his feelings one way or another she’d burst. 

“I don’t want Gaston,” she told him. “You know I don’t,” she added quietly, some of the wind gone from her sails.  

That dumbed in into silence. Better that than the wrong impression. Belle played with the hem of her skirt. Maybe it was time to slink off the bar stool and back to the hotel. Gold beckoned the bartender over for a fresh drink. Belle was steadying herself for as graceful an exit as possible when Gold pointed his thumb at her. “Pink Passion.” 

The bartender nodded and started taking a number of bottles off the wall. It took her a second to realize what he’d done. He’d ordered for her. Her heart soared. The confidence with which he requested her drink was terribly attractive. It was like a date, not that she’d been on many. She kind of missed the whole holding hands in a movie theater and going for milkshakes kind of dating. She’d trained and competed her way right through it, with nothing but trophies to mark her pre-teen and teen years. Now she was thrown in the deep end with grown-up dating. She wanted it. Desperately. But it was like learning how to ride a bike without training wheels first. She was constantly plagued with nervousness and uncertainty. 

The glass the bartender placed in front of her was Barbie pink with a lemon twist garnish. “It’s almost too pretty to drink!” She grinned down at it for a moment before leaning over and sipping the rim. It tasted like peach and some sort of berry and lemon. It was refreshing and delicious and took that disgusting beer taste right out of her mouth. She closed her eyes and hummed in approval. Now she understood why people drank. This was good. 

She studied his profile while he stared into his drink. His long hair obscured most of his face and his ever present scruffy beard concealed a great deal of the rest. She supposed he thought it made him inscrutable. “Want him or not, he’s your ticket to an Olympic gold medal,” he told her, bringing them back to her skating  _ again _ .  

“Funny, I thought that’s what you were for,” she retorted. If he insisted on talking about skating, it was going to be about his, not hers. She fingered the rim of her glass. “Is that all your partner was to you, a ticket?” That was low of her, she knew he had been married to Milah, but she bristled at Gaston, her closest friend, being referred to as nothing more than a tool.

He chuckled ruefully. “That is all I was to her,” he lifted his glass, “in the end.” He brought the drink to his lips. 

His vulnerability, even if it was hidden behind bitterness, cooled her annoyance. “What happened?” she probed gently.   

“You saw it.” It was a statement, not a question. He suspected she’d watched his disastrous last Olympic performance. Last performance period if YouTube was anything to go by. 

“I don’t believe it.” It was true. The skater she’d been with on the ice was not the same one she’d seen in the grainy footage. Belle knew firsthand how a skate could go from bad to worse, but what she’d seen had been something else entirely. 

He smiled, but despondently. It was possible he was the saddest man she’d ever met. “Oh, believe it, dearie.” The sympathy she was feeling must have shone in her eyes. His elbow dug into the bar when he pointed at her. “Don’t,” he ground out. 

Belle quickly schooled her features. She got it, he didn’t want anyone pitying him. Belle had experienced no worse feeling than stepping off the ice after a bad skate and seeing all those compassionate, pained faces. He stared at her for a long time to make sure she’d wiped any and all compassion off her face. Belle struggled. She was a naturally expressive person so she could only manage so much. 

He decided something then, like a man standing on the edge of the Golden Gate Bridge who’d committed to jumping. “She told me as we were about to step onto the ice that she was leaving me.” He muffled any further words with his glass.    
  


Belle tried to imagine herself getting terrible, life altering news right before a competition. Then he had to immediately skate with his soon to be ex-wife no less! What a bitch. He was better off without her as far as she was concerned. “You never thought of getting a new partner?” 

He shook his head. “When I commit to something, I commit to it. I retired that day. I only put skates back on recently.” 

It took her a minute to process the implication of his words. Twelve years. He hadn’t laced up a pair of skates in twelve years. All this time he’d stood on the sidelines while she and Gaston flew around the ice free as birds. Huh. “No wonder you’ve had a stick up your ass.” 

He almost choked on his drink again. 

“How could you not skate?” Belle demanded, completely riled up about the entire travesty. Belle sometimes dreamed of not competing, definitely taking a few weeks off, but never quitting skating cold turkey. “How could you let her take that away from you? Didn’t you miss it?” 

He shook his head, “Honestly, no. I had a son to raise on my own.” She had heard of this son in New York. These simple words did nothing, she was sure, to illustrate the struggles of single parenthood. 

“But you could have found another skating partner,” she argued. She knew their age gap made it impossible they could have ever have been partners, but Belle liked the daydream of having the ability to be his partner on and off the ice. “We’re good together,” she offered shyly as an example. “We don’t even need choreography.” She was aware it sounded like she was suggesting they also wouldn’t need choreography for something else as well. That they’d be good in bed together. But, thanks to the Pink Passion, Belle realized she meant the statement both ways. By the narrowing of his dark eyes and the tick of his jaw, she thought he might have caught her double entendre. Belle leaned forward on her stool. She heard the squeak of his bar chair as he shifted his weight but she didn’t dare break their eye contact. 

“Belle, c’mon!” 

Belle blinked hard, jumping in her seat. A group of skaters and coaches stood at the foot of the stairs under the blinking karaoke sign. They waved her over excitedly.

Belle’s heart fell. She knew, without even looking at him, that the spell had been broken. Wherever their conversation had been going, the others had effectively thrown a bucket of ice water on it. She slid off her stool and moved to follow the group disappearing up the steps. A couple steps away she looked over her shoulder at Gold, slowly sipping his drink. He was alone, like always. Even in a group he stood apart somehow. She didn’t care what kind of spin he put on it or walls he put up. He was lonely. She bit her lip, catching his gaze and letting her eyes slide from his, down to his scuffed brown boots and back up again. “Aren’t you coming?”

 


End file.
